


In Columned Halls We Embrace

by friedenskind



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Laurent plays matchmaker in the background (sort of), M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Kings Rising, because Erasmus was right: Laurent is kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedenskind/pseuds/friedenskind
Summary: Kallias watched the king turn, feeling almost wistful, but then he felt something else expanding in his chest, growing bigger and bigger with every step Laurent took until finally he could no longer hold in and it all spilled forward.“What about Erasmus?” A small part of him was appalled by how loud and vulgar his voice sounded, how wrong to hear it echoing between the columns. “Do you know? He was one of the slaves…”With peace finally ruling over Akielos and Vere in the form of the two new kings, Kallias must find a way to reach Erasmus, whose life he saved with a simple kiss. But to Erasmus, that kiss was anything but salvation...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IfOnlyNow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfOnlyNow/gifts).



> capriss22k16 gift for oranca!  
> I'm so sorry for being so late with this, I hope you forgive me and that the new year will be kind to you <3

 

The man before them was beautiful.

He was breathtakingly lovely with his dark curls and wide blue eyes, skin milky pale in a way that was carefully cultivated and yet one could see the even paler ring around his neck where not too long ago a fragile collar had rested.

It was immediately obvious that he must have been a favourite among the former palace slaves, showing impeccable form in the gracefully unobtrusive way he knelt in front of the thrones even if the nervous way he held himself not quite sitting down on his heels gave away that he was fighting the long ingrained habit of fully prostrating himself in front of his kings.

“I am thankful to be received in audience, Exalted,” he said meekly, a slight hesitation in his voice giving away he was struggling with using normal pronouns for himself instead talking in third person as was common for slaves should they need to address their masters. “It’s not my wish to bother the Exalted, and I apologize for coming forward with a mere slave’s-- for surely the matters of someone as low as myself are not worth an Exalted’s hearing.”

No one commented on the stumble of tongue.

King Damianos shifted comfortably on his throne. He was curious what the former slave had to say as it was unheard of for one to come forward so directly.

“Please, speak freely,” he said more softly than he would address any courtier, “If it is a matter to you, it is a matter to me.”

The young man bowed hastily with an abundance of thanks, stopping just short of his forehead touching the marble floors before straightening again, faint blush on his cheeks, yet even in this he was graceful.

“A slave has been-- that is, I have been-- I’ve wondered what happened with the slaves sent to Vere back when-- a while back. Are they serving in Arles? Have they been freed as well?”

His bright blue eyes flashed briefly to the man at his king’s side, his other king, who sat motionless on the second throne like a foreign statue depicting a vision of beauty made from cut glass - lovely to look at but at the wrong angle one’d turn blind, a slight touch enough to part skin.

Damen was startled by the question.

“They do no longer serve in Arles,” he said, the thought alone still sickening him regardless of the changes he knew the Veretian Court was going through. “They have long since been traded to Patras. Prince Torveld himself has found a favourite among them.” He paused, watching the mixture of emotions cross the face of the lovely boy before him. “I do not have reign over Patras, so they have not been freed. Seeing as Patran culture is similar to Akielon, I can assure you they are being treated well and with the care and respect they deserve.”

Thanking them profusely, the man left and that was that, but Damen noticed Laurent’s eyes remaining on the hallway through which he had vanished before focussing on the next bidder.

 

***

 

_ “On the morning of Kallias’s First Night ceremony, he ate apricots.” _

 

***

 

“What is your name?”

“Your Highness!”

Kallias didn’t drop the sheets he had been carrying but that was only because his whole body went down in an elegant tumble, too surprised to not fully prostrate himself.

Kallias noticed his mistake too late and quickly straightened, though he remained on his knees.

“Apologies, your Highness, I--”

“It’s fine.” He spoke with a Veretian accent that made every sentence sound like a song and a bit questioning.  His voice was not, however, cold or distant or crude, and Kallias found himself agreeing with the tales the other servants of Ios were spreading about the King of Vere, so contrary to the ones most popular in Court.

“Kallias, your Highness,” Kallias answered the question, hiding his fear behind the pleasant tilt he had perfected during his training. He could not think of a reason why the new King of Vere would seek him out, a mere former-slave-servant, for even if Kallias was a bit more clumsy with his new duties than others he did his best to perform, and if he was to be punished the duty would surely not fall on a King.

But maybe it was not his new duties that brought him to the King’s attention, but his old ones.

“You were Kastor’s favourite.” It wasn’t a question though Kallias couldn’t keep his head from lowering, both in the tiniest nod and as a reaction to the dread forming in his stomach. He had been just a slave, even if a favoured one, a treasured one, his highest duty, his  _ purpose _ was to follow the calling of a master, even if it was a traitor-king…

“I am not entirely familiar with the keeping of slaves in Akielos, and I will likely never be,” King Laurent said, voice casual and body relaxed as he leaned against a column. They were alone in the guest room where Kallias had been supposed to change the sheets, one of the few simple tasks that had been assigned to him given that he had little training for anything other than more direct service to a master.  “So tell me, Kallias - how much does a master talk to a favoured slave?”

Kallias could feel his heartbeat frantically pulsing against his throat, surely visible to watching eyes.

“This servant supposes it depends on the master,” he said, “But mine liked sharing his victories, both future and past, to impress and bask in praise.”

It was a truthful answer but it felt like he was digging his own grave, but better to do so by remaining as loyal as he had always been - safe for one time - than to corrupt what reputation he had left. What good would his looks do him now that the concept of pleasure slaves was only one of crime?

He startled when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. The king had left his casual lean and stooped at his side.

“Kallias, you are a good man, as you were a good slave and now a servant. You have done nothing wrong, not now and not in serving your past master.”

Kallias couldn’t hide a shuddering breath and felt his cheeks warm, both in embarrassment and the pleasure of being praised by - not his master, exactly, but close enough. He risked a shy glance from under his lashes, a practiced maneuver, and the blue gaze he met warmed him further.

“I merely wanted to satisfy a curiosity,” the King said, and let go with a light squeeze, leaving Kallias almost disappointed and his skin, already having gotten used to the touch, feeling cold.

Kallias watched the king turn, feeling almost wistful, but then he felt something else expanding in his chest, growing bigger and bigger with every step Laurent took until finally he could no longer hold in and it all spilled forward.

“What about Erasmus?” A small part of him was appalled by how loud and vulgar his voice sounded, how wrong to hear it echoing between the columns. “Do you know? He was one of the slaves…”

The king had turned and a strange little smile played over his lips.

“It seems,” he said slowly. “That Erasmus has found his way into a Prince’s favour despite the odds.”

This time the king left for good, leaving Kallias kneeling on the floor, knowing that he should be relieved yet all that he found inside was loneliness.

 

***

 

_ “You said you wanted to cross the ocean.” _

 

***

 

After that, nothing happened.

If Kallias had allowed himself to entertain the thought that a talk with the King would have any sort of change on his life, a thought that he had very carefully extinguished before it sparked, he would have been wrong.

The days continued as previously, though with each week past Kallias grew more comfortable in the newfound routine of, well, working.

It wasn't that he had never worked before, but the duties of a palace servant were quite different than those of a pleasure slave, and Kallias would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t sometimes wistfully thinking back to the days he had spent honing his skills and priming his body, taking pride in the softness of his skin, the tenderness of palms and feet, the pliancy of his body and how when he held his hand next to the white marble, there was barely a difference in colour.

It wasn't that those things were not still true in a way, but ultimately he found them all being a disadvantage at his new position. His feet and hands often hurt at the end of the day even though he was aware he didn't even do anything that would count as hard work, his sleep was disturbed by kinks in his back and shoulders, and when his skin had begun to redden from being in the sun for a bit too long he had almost panicked until he remembered that it didn't really matter. There was no master who would be displeased if his skin turned the colour of a crab and began to peel away in ugly flakes.

It still filled him with shame, and he kept his head down and never complained – it was one of the few things he could take over from his previous life, a skill and attitude that would still do him good, still fill him with pride: being perfectly, sweetly obedient and eager to please.

As such he was happy to have been tasked to serve at the banquet table in the evening, as well as at the previous events as the Kings hosted a delegation from Patras. 

They had arrived only this afternoon and the palace was buzzing with activity, servants rushing through the halls and floors on silent feet that never betrayed their haste.

And Kallias was among them as if he had always been, and as much as he sometimes bemourned his previous life he liked the feeling of being part of something whole.

Kallias changed the beddings in several rooms, airing out the linen and silks, fluffing pillows and smoothing cloth until it was time to attend the courtiers in one of the main halls. He bathed quickly in scented water as to not offend any noble noses, was even given some oil to both sooth his burnt skin and to make him smell subtly pleasant, and then a new white chiton in the common servant’s cut, simple and unassuming.

“What do we do if we’re asked to perform?” As he passed them, he couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two servants, both who he knew had been pleasure slaves like him. “There are still slaves in Patras. The Prince might have brought his own, but it’s said he has a wandering eye. They say he took all the Akielon slaves given to Vere, and that his favourite has been trained in the Gardens of Nereus!”

Kallias almost stumbled as he remembered what his Kings had told him mere weeks previous, and his pulse sped as he fastened his steps that led him to the main halls.

The Patran delegation was already there, mingling with the Akielon court while feasting on simple bites of fruit and light wine - food and drink served from trays, one of which Kallias should have taken himself before entering the hall, he realized too late. The thought was forgotten though when his eyes found the Patran Prince, relaxed and reclining on the low couch like the royalty he was, but it wasn’t him who Kallias found himself inevitably drawn to.

Next to his Prince knelt a slave, legs folded demurely under him, posture perfect despite the soft cushions beneath him instead of the cold floor; a position reserved for favourites, and even then a rare sight - Kallias had never been invited to seat himself anywhere but at his master’s feet in public, favoured as he had been.

But it wasn’t thoughts of his fate that made Kallias stumble closer, graceless as if he had never been trained and not minding in the slightest, because Erasmus was as beautiful as he had been the last time they had seen each other - except now, he was smiling, glancing from under lowered lashes as he lifted a grape, arm elbow and wrist in elegant angles, head bowed just so, artfully tousselled hair reflecting golden in the sun and while all that did not escape Kallias’s notice it was the upward tilt of pink lips that enchanted him.

“Erasmus,” he whispered, realizing he had raised his own hand, as if mirroring Erasmus’s gesture, or maybe to reach out for him.

He took another step forward, having paused his rush, but a noblewoman was in his way that looked at him oddly before continuing on. She was not the only one who had noticed Kallias, several people had turned at the scene he was making, but Kallias for once didn’t care what they were thinking, ignoring all the eyes on him, even the sharp blue ones from the couch next to the Patran Prince, who was looking between his slave and the servant staring at him.

“Who’s that?” he asked curiously after swallowing the grape, his hand resting comfortably on the younger man’s knee. “Do you know him?”

Erasmus had since lifted his head and frozen at the sight of Kallias. They were staring at one another and Kallias held his breath at the mixture of emotion he could see on Erasmus’s face. He did not hear the soothing words the prince spoke once he noticed his slave’s distress, he only heard the pounding of his heartbeat, galloping wildly and hard enough that he could feel the pulse at his wrists and temples.

He also heard Erasmus’s reply when it came, after he turned his head away and leaned against his master’s arm that folded around him almost protectively.

“No. He’s a nobody.”

 

***

 

_ “It occurred to him, stupidly, that Kallias would know what was happening, that he should ask Kallias, and that was when the screams began.” _

 

***

 

Kallias was devastated.

After the rejection he had retreated, unable to remain and do his job and instead had hurried back to the small cot that was his together with the chest at its end and the contents of both. His possessions weren’t worth mentioning, but they were his, as was this corner of a room shared with a few other servants. Kallias treasured it, both as something to call his own and as a place to retreat. 

It helped that his cot was under the arched window with a sight of the sea, and in the distance, Ishtima. It usually was a sight that soothed him, but now it shattered him once more as he remembered another day when Erasmus had talked to him and then held him, when it had been Kallias who pushed him away. They had talked about travelling that night, or Erasmus had.

And then Kallias thought about yet a different day on which, again, he had pushed Erasmus away, but this time Kallias had talked about travelling.

It had hurt, both the act and the words, but Kallias had lived and hoped, the knowledge that Erasmus was alive keeping him from feeling remorse.

But now it all came back, because Erasmus didn’t know, and oh, what must he be thinking of him, to make him react in such a way…

Kallias couldn’t blame him. Erasmus had no way of knowing, no-one had known, in fact it had been pure luck that the loose tongue of Kallias’s master while resting in sweat soaked sheets had chosen to go over his plans for the future, early enough for Kallias to plan - early enough for him to save what he held most dear.

The sight of the ocean depressed him, and Kallias lay down, burying his face in the pillow before he stared at the wall. He tossed and turned as he listened to the sounds of the busy palace, feeling oddly numb, not in the least caring that he was shirking his duties.

He didn’t react when the door opened and a hand clasped his shoulder, turning him none too gently.

“What are you doing?” Aden sneered, an expression that seemed almost constant on his face now that he no longer had to worry about getting wrinkles early. “You’re supposed to be serving in the hall! I’m not going to do your work for you.”

Kallias shivered when his blanket was pulled away roughly, but as Aden ranted on about what a nuisance Kallias was, he realized something else.   
“...what’s wrong?” Aden stopped mid-rant, shifting uncomfortably when Kallias only stared at him with wide eyes. They might never have been friends, but spending three years in close quarters as palace slaves-in-training made it hard not to know one another, and Aden had never seen Kallias like this before. It unsettled him.

“Do you remember,” Kallias said, “that night when I came back to the training halls?”

Aden stepped back. “You mean the night when you kissed Erasmus?”

Kallias nodded, prompting a snort from the other.

“Of course I remember. I had never thought that you of all people would want to betray him like that.”

Kallias’s heart clenched - of course it would seem like that, to anyone who heard of Kallias’s plan; to kiss the slave-in-training, to taint him irreversibly, making him forever unworthy of a prince. It hadn’t been hard to convince Aden to help, to make him get the First Trainer, to tell him to say it was Erasmus who initiated everything.

“Is that why you’re in here?” Aden said, sneer back in place. “It’s because he’s out in the hall, isn’t it? You’re hiding from Erasmus!”

Kallias sat up and stood. It mattered not what Aden was thinking - what mattered was what Erasmus was thinking, especially since it was so completely false.

He somehow had to find a way to tell Erasmus what had really happened, to tell him the truth.

 

***

 

_ “Everyone wearing a lion pin was taken away. That’s where we thought you’d be.” _

 

***

 

Kallias spent the entire evening wrecking his mind for a way to get to Erasmus, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He could try mingling with the Patran delegation, but it had been obvious that Erasmus wanted nothing to do with him, and besides, as a favourite it would be hard to get the other alone, and all it took for Kallias to be removed would be one word from the prince.

He felt hopeless the following day, trying to worm his way around any duties that involved getting close to the court, a task not made easier by Aden spilling poisonous words about him shirking his duties the day prior. Their overseer was mad and Kallias almost cried during the scolding, spending the day rushing through any task with a lowered head.

It was in the evening when there was a sudden turn, though Kallias couldn’t determine its source. The overseer seemed to have calmed and was almost gentle as he gave Kallias orders to find the finest bedding and brightest candles and prepare some rooms for the night. 

Kallias knew the rooms - they were facing over the sea, light and open for cool breezes, and beautiful. He did the smaller ones first and the biggest one last. It was set in a corner of the palace and thus had the most windows and a huge balcony with soft curtains that were half opened when he entered the room. 

He replaced the candles one by one, scraping away any wax left on the holders and made sure they were secured properly so they wouldn’t fall. Then he turned to the bed. At first he readied the new bedding before loosening the old in the corners, shaking it up softly to make it easier to pull away, finding pleasure in the way the silk reflected the slowly reddening light of the evening sun that flooded the room.

Just as he had gathered the sheets in his arms and turned, he started and dropped them again. 

Busying himself with work, he had not heard the other enter, and was ready to fling himself to the ground in old reflex before further shock made him unable to move - because it was Erasmus standing in the arch that lead to the connected side chamber meant for slaves to easily enter and exit, skin still flushed from a recent bath, chiton slightly clinging as he was still damp.

The red sun turned his wet hair into a roar of fire and gold and Kallias wanted to capture every reflection, every stray drop of water that threatened to fall any second.

For half an eternity none of them moved. 

Then, his voice more familiarly shy and quiet and not as shockingly cold as in the hall the day before, “What are you doing here?” asked Erasmus.

“Changing the bedding,” Kallias said.

It left him feeling stupid, but he felt that he should pave the way with honesty when what he wanted was to share the truth.

“But, you’re not--” Erasmus seemed appalled and Kallias winced. When they had last met, Kallias was a prized pleasure slave, the jewel of Kastor’s household, but now he was doing the work of a mere palace servant.   
Work that should be beneath him.

But Kallias felt a weird sort of pride well up inside him.

“I’m free now, just like all the other slaves. They gave us the choice to become servants, or to leave with a compensation of money, food and clothes. Almost all of us stayed.”

He needn’t explain why - Erasmus understood, he knew how vulnerable a pleasure slave would be void of master and security, and that thought made Kallias wonder about Erasmus’s time in Arles, where slaves were uncommon.

Erasmus was staring at the bedding, and Kallias would have given anything to know his thoughts. He waited.

“The thought of you changing my bedding,” Erasmus then said, so quietly he was barely audible. He did not finish the sentence, shaking his head still in disbelieve.

Then suddenly, more forceful, “You ruined my life.”   
Kallias started in surprise and found that Erasmus eyes were burning into his, their wetness sparkling in the light flooding the room.

“You ruined me for the prince. You have no idea what happened, how it was in Arles,” Erasmus was crying, nose and eyes rapidly reddening and a flush spread over his chest like it always did when he was upset, and Kallias ached at the sight he wished he would have been spared.

“Why did you do this to me?” Erasmus sobbed, heavy sniffling garbling his words. “We were so close… I was so happy for you, and I thought.. I thought you were happy for me too, that you wanted me at your side. You said you wished-- and I wanted-- I--” he stopped and covered his face with his hands, sinking to the ground in a graceless heap. 

Kallias, still standing in a tumble of silken bedding, wanted to rush towards him, wanted to hold him as he had done that daring day before his First Night, wanted to hold him even closer than that; but he wasn’t sure that was what Erasmus wanted.

Not after what Kallias had done.

He breathed in deeply and stepped from the bedding to kneel beside Erasmus. Their knees were almost touching, close enough to feel the warmth of another body, but that was all that Kallias allowed himself for the moment.

He took another deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, noticing that Erasmus stifled his crying to listen. “I could think of no other way to save you.”

Erasmus stared. “Save me?” he sounded incredulous, his desperation rising. “How could you do this to me and call it salvation?”

Now it was Kallias who could no longer bear his sight and closed his eyes, turning his face away. “You must know by now, that Kastor betrayed the King.” Kallias still stumbled over the name every time he said it aloud. It felt foreign in his mouth, without title or honorific. “When he took the palace, he ordered all of Damianos’s slaves killed. Everyone who wore the lion pin…”

Kallias’s fist clenched - he could still feel the way the gold had pressed into the soft skin on his palm the night he tore it from Erasmus tunic, an imprint he renewed every night when he pulled the pin from its hiding place.

His words were met with silence, and when the sobbing didn’t return after it had ebbed away Kallias dared glancing at the man beside him.

“We heard the screaming,” Erasmus whispered after a long quiet. “We wondered why I wasn’t with the others.”   
Erasmus looked out the window. The sun had long since began to melt into the sea, slowly dissolving with a halo of red, rose and copper. Finally Erasmus lowered his hands from his face, absently smoothing his chiton over the top of his thigh.

“I wish you had not done it,” he said and Kallias heart stopped beating. “The court in Arles isn’t as kind as His Highness. If it weren’t for him and the Exalted…”

It was an awful, awful thing to say, but no more awful than what he had gone through. Kallias felt his throat constrict and his lower lip tremble. In a sudden motion he folded forward, his forehead against the marble floor.   
“I am so sorry, Erasmus. I could not bear to know your fate would be death. You said you wanted to live in the world and I.. I hoped I could give you the chance to do so along with keeping your life. I thought… all of the world’s cruelty can’t be worse than death.”

“It was not your decision to make,” Erasmus said, fingers clutching the edges of his chiton. 

Kallias winced. “I know. But I cannot regret what I did. I’m sorry.”

A long pause followed during which Kallias could feel the blood pounding in his ears. He feared he would faint any moment.

“I think I don’t regret it either,” Erasmus spoke softly and when Kallias looked at him the fading light of the impending night made his features softer, almost fragile, yet still heart-stoppingly lovely. “I now can say that I lived in the world. I’ve seen things no slave or palace servant could dream of. And now that I’m here again…”

His hands finally released the fabric he had been worrying and he looked up so sharply Kallias almost jerked in surprise.  “Kallias, did you mean it? What you said that night in the gardens?” Kallias knew immediately which words Erasmus meant and he felt lightheaded as he nodded while Erasmus was still speaking. “That you wanted me to be your..?”

Erasmus flushed at Kallias’s reaction and lowered his eyes, shifting on his knees. “You know, you misunderstood me that night,” he said shyly. “When I said I wanted to be taken across the ocean, I wasn’t talking about wanting to travel.”

It was like a bucket of cold water and Kallias straightened in alarm. “No? But then what--”

Erasmus was still looking at him from under long lashes and despite his shock, Kallias felt his heartbeat rapidly rising in frequency.

Erasmus’s smile was so shy it was almost invisible, but slowly, as he talked, it grew, just as his voice got firmer.

“I always preferred love poetry over verses of battle. I didn’t just want to see the place where Iphegenia waited for her master, where Arsaces gave himself to his lover’s yearning, I wanted to-- to feel what they felt.”

He finally lifted his head, eyes on Kallias’s lower lip that Kallias had began to bite without noticing. 

“Now I think I know how they felt. I think I’ve always known,” he said and leaned in.

The kiss was nothing like the one they had shared in the gardens.

Back then it had been teeth and tongue, more an assault than anything else and Kallias mostly remembered the wild beating of his heart in his chest and the ache of desperation that had made his whole body hurt, the anxiety about his plan clouding his mind.

Now his heart was beating wildly too, but it was because the simple touch of soft lips against his were better than anything his three years of training, his months as favourite had prepared him for.

Now his body wasn’t just aching but it was throbbing with each pulse of blood that warmed him to his very core, making his fingers tingle as he let them fist lightly in the fabric against Erasmus’s back, and then in his hair, a touch so delicate because he still wasn’t sure it was allowed, because he was afraid to ruin the perfect image Erasmus made in the low evening light.

Now his mind was clouded with the haze of happiness, of joy and exhilaration and he almost sobbed with pleasure when Erasmus sighed against his lips and melted against him, body pliant and all soft lines, perfectly inviting to be held and touched.

When their lips parted again, the rest of their bodies remained in contact. Their knees were pressing against each other’s now, legs tangled and Erasmus was half in his lap, hands clutching Kallias’s shoulders in a grip that was much firmer than the one Kallias had on him, and Kallias tightened his arms to mirror his surety.

They shared a third kiss, and then a fourth, and then Kallias didn’t know how to keep count because he couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. Erasmus’s lips were soft and his skin was soft and his hair was even softer, and the little sighs he made without noticing were the most endearing thing. It was exhilarating because it felt forbidden but it was wonderful because it felt right, and Kallias didn’t care if they were allowed or not - he was  no longer a slave and Erasmus was too precious to let go.

The marble floor was hard as they settled, but it was warm from the sun that had faded by now and from their bodies, still kneeling though no longer with any posture or form and neither of them cared. Their cheeks were touching and Kallias heard another sigh, his new favourite sound, right against his ear as he held Erasmus’s hips, no longer hesitant.

He closed his eyes as they held each other and Erasmus rested his head on Kallias’s shoulder. 

“Now I understand what he meant,” Erasmus said with what was almost a giggle, a sound that danced over Kallias’s skin and filled him with a pleasure far greater than physical touch could achieve. Kallias was momentarily distracted by the beauty that was Erasmus’s smile but then he asked curiously, “Who?”

“His Highness, the King of Vere. He was very kind to me in Arles, and he remembers me. Just this noon, he found me and told me he’d take the master out for a ride, that I should return to these chambers and relax for the day.” He sounded awed, admiration clear in his voice. “He has talked to you too, hasn’t he?”

Kallias nodded and, happily, Erasmus pressed his cheek back against Kallias’s shoulder. “He said he would talk to Master about freeing the slaves in Patras too.”

Kallias dared not breathe for a moment and as he spoke the hope was blossoming so brightly inside him that he could barely form the words.

“Do you think he can convince him?”

“I know he can.”

 

***

 

_ “In the columned halls, we embrace  _

_ His cheek rests against mine  _

_ Happiness like this comes once in a thousand years.” _

 


End file.
